


Fondling with your heart strings

by TotemundTabu



Series: 30 THROBB SMUTS [17]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Sex, Breathplay, Dom Robb Stark, Drinking, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Spreader Bars, Sub Theon Greyjoy, Top Robb Stark, god forbid i get the wrong tags, it's less explicit than usual but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 14:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13413255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/pseuds/TotemundTabu
Summary: For the anon who asked: How bout Jon and Theon are friends, and Theon meets Robb and they fuck behind Jons back? :D   --- “Do you need a lighter?” Theon turned. Well, he had promised Jon “no chicks”, right? And that was definitely not a chick. One meter seventy-seven centimeters of a redhead, wide shoulders, broad chest, heart-shaped face and baby blue eyes.





	Fondling with your heart strings

**Author's Note:**

> So :D this took a while :D I had work stuff in the middle.  
> First of all, this is for the anon who asked, but also a bit for my wife because Jon is her fave (I know, I know...) and because she aced her finals and her exhibition <3!  
> The singer referenced at the start was Rotten (Sex Pistols) but I realized maybe the youngest of you may not get it, I'm sorry, guys, I'm old XD.  
> Also I'm sorry for my crappy lyrics skills. They are poor but I tried :'D

**Fondling with your heart strings**

 

* * *

 

 

It all started a bit too rushed and too foolish.

Like the thrilling pull of a vertigo and the dizzy twist of drunkenness.

It started without sense or manners, but that's how everything started with him, after all.

Theon was born in Benwell Road, Holloway, and was sure it was a sign of the universe he had been born to be great; Jon had it clear after just some months of knowing him, that Theon would have taken just any sign to tell himself that. Also because, after so many years, the area became a way better place to live in, but these were insignificant details for a young singer with too much ambition and too little patience.

Differently from his almost neighbour, Theon spent huge amounts of time in the bathroom, and nearly as much in some random girl's pants. 

Jon was sure he would have calmed down at a certain point, but Sam and Asha were pretty sure it was just desperation.

Theon sang well enough, he mostly had enough stage presence to make him seem like a fucking giant.

It was fair game to Jon who, as tone-deaf as a guitarist can be, was just glad he had found a singer good enough to sing his songs and pretty enough to get them a fucking audience in the terribly beer-stinking, rat-inhabited pubs they had to play at. Plus, through Theon they met his sister, who was the most energetic drummer Jon had ever laid eyes upon.

Not to add, she was fine.

Which was creepy to think given how much she looked like her brother but, then again … 

The real problem with Theon was that, given his irregular behaviour, he tended to sometimes be totally hazed or high or in a directly post-coitum state on stage and Jon needed him to control himself at least for that week, when finally they had managed to obtain a gig every night.

Which meant money.

Which meant not starving. So it was kind of important.

“Theon, just promise me tonight you will keep it in your pants.”, he told him, more as a warning than as an actual request.

Theon groaned, leaning on the chair, grinning, “Hey, it's not my fault my cock is a magnet.”

“If you screw up this week, you'll have one made out of platinum for the rest of your life.”

“In the sense it will win a nice prize?”, Theon grinned.

“No. - Jon said, suffering through gritted teeth – Because you will need a fucking prosthesis. I need you here, tip-top shape and fit as a fiddle.”

Theon grinned and winked, “Honey, you know I'm always terrific.”

“Yes, but your throat is not when you do bullshit. And drinking and sniffing with girls until mid-afternoon, then sleeping for two hours, and then coming to sing is bullshit.”

“Fine, fine, no chicks.”

Sam shook his head, then smiled, “You worry too much, Jon, I'm sure Theon will do well. His voice is always great.”

“He will ruin it, or be late, or be intoxicated on stage.”

“Look. - Theon said, with the muggiest, cockiest grin Jon had ever witnessed – What's the worst thing I could do?”

“Pee on stage?”, Sam asked.

“I'm sure I can find some girl that is into that.”

Jon looked horrified, then tried again, “Vomit on the audience?”

Theon seemed to weight that one.

“Fine, that could be harder to pull off.”

“Just, please, I beg of you, no sex party and connected substances for this week. - Jon begged – I need to pay rent, okay?”

Theon raised an eyebrow, “...on one condition.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“If I do it, we will sing a song I wrote next time.”

Jon blinked, trying to bleach his brain from the notion, Sam let out a little shrieking sigh, Asha just hid her face in the beer and prayed to die.

“..: Theon. - Jon started, taking then a long pause, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times – You... what?”

“I write songs too, you know?”

Jon couldn't bite his tongue still, “Like the one that had a full minute of moans?”

“Welcome to the jungle has moans too!”

“You're not Axl, you know that, right? It's important for me that you know that.”

“I would look amazing in those pants though. - Theon pointed out, smug – My ass is better.”

Sam opened his mouth to reply but saw Asha, bottle still attached to her mouth, staring at him and shaking her head slightly as to advise him to not even try.

“So what if they are a bit more... sensual. You're so gloomy!”

“I'm not gloomy!”, Jon exclaimed, outraged.

Sam grabbed a bottle himself, imitating Asha's coping.

Jon felt very betrayed by the lack of defence coming from his supposed best friend.

“Fine. - he said then, annoyed – We will play one, _one_ , of your songs. But no moans.”

“Prolonged gritty, low notes that may resemble them?”, Theon bargained.

“Fair.”

 

*

 

Now, now, of course Theon didn't really consider keeping faith to the promise. He just counted on being subtle.

It's not that he didn't respect Jon or stuff like that.

He was just really bad at containing himself.

And he couldn't focus on anything, when tides rose and stuff pooled in his mind and the voices got hard – his dad's words drowned him so damn deep, he needed to dam them, to stem them away from his mind.

Sex worked.

And alcohol, and maybe a couple of pills. He liked the mix of tastes and how they left him unable of feeling past bruises and old insults; only the present existed then, and a warm mouth and icy drops.

The world started and ended between a pair of soft thighs, it rose and drowned in the cliff of a bosom, and nothing could attack him while he was deep inside a wet cunt.

His addiction was a safe space.

And that was not something sweet, pure, clean-cut Jon could understand.

He, who had a mom who loved him and a dad who had had the decency of abandoning them instead of looming and smacking him purple and bloody and broken... he was so sure of being unlucky because his mother was always at work, he didn't know what it meant to stay out of the house for hours in winter, freezing up through your holed up shoes, crying from the cold, because your father was home and you wanted to wait until your mother was there too so maybe, perhaps, he wouldn't have hit you. Sweet, clean Jon didn't know that when fucking Balon Greyjoy passed away from liver failure, Theon had to face being glad that he had died.

And sweet, clean Jon didn't know what it meant for him to take a long, warm bath after, letting the water melt away fourteen years of winters.

And for sure sweet, clean Jon didn't know the thrill of fucking a girl, having her scream about how big you are, on the kitchen table against which your father slammed your head at the age of five because you didn't eat your broccoli.

Until you forget the red of the blood and remember only the pearl of her squirt and your come.

And her shivers would erase his screams.

Made sense.

Theon was chugging down his drink and cleaning his mouth, breathing out in boredom.

He had asked Kyra to come keep him company, but that weasel of a girl was busy having a girls night with Bessa and Jeyne Poole. Theon promised her he would have masturbated to the thought and Kyra hung up on him.

Stingy.

He sipped another drink, feeling the sweet bitterness of the gin and then the sourness of lemon too cold. He grabbed a cigarette and put it between his wet lips, while looking through his pockets for a lighter.

Nothing, of course.

He grabbed his leather jacket and rustled through it like a Hun in a village.

Nothing.

He groaned, loudly, resting his face on his hand.

He was about to take the cigarette from his mouth when he heard it.

“Do you need a lighter?”

He turned.

Well, he had promised Jon “no chicks”, right? And _that_ was definitely not a chick.

One meter seventy-seven centimetres of a redhead, wide shoulders, broad chest, heart-shaped face and baby blue eyes. 

Theon grinned and bit his bottom lip.

“Come on baby, light my fire.”, he half-sung, smirking, smug.

The man swallowed down hard and dry, staring at him, blinking, starstruck.

“Ah... Umh, here.”

He moved his own lighter to Theon with a little smile, trying really hard not to look at him in the face and clicked a couple times. Spare sparks.

Theon laughed, winking, “I hope something else ignites up better.”

The man's face seemed to turn as red as his hair up to the tip of his ears.

“... I'm... - he frowned as if nobody had ever flirted with him in his life, Theon found it utterly endearing – Are you...?”

Theon snorted, “Yes, I am. - he turned to the barman – Bring a tom collins to my friend, here...”

“...Robb.”

Then he sat down next to Theon, charmed and confused all the same.

“Robb. - Theon grinned, sucking his bottom lip – Theon.”

He smiled, shy. Theon thought he would have loved to eat him whole.

His glance ran over the soft, ginger hair on his arms and the ones that were coming from the regrettable lumberjack shirt. He couldn't dress worth shit, but he didn't need to keep those clothes on for much. He peeked at the jeans and almost choked on his drink.

Robb frowned, innocently. “All fine?”

“Yeah. - Theon said, then moved his hands onto Robb's, slowly, fingertips fakely absent-minded – So.. how come here? Never saw you before.”

“I'm in town to meet my cousin. - he explained – I live in Dublin.”

“Hm. Dublin. - Theon nodded, knowingly, while knowing nothing about Dublin – Charming.”

“No leprechaun jokes?”, Robb asked.

“Nah. - Theon said in a smirk – I know better things I can find at the end of a rainbow than a pot of gold.”

His glance grazed Robb's hips again and Theon was sure this time the boy let out the lowest growl of discomforted arousal.

“So. - Theon continued, looking away, while Robb suffocated his embarrassment in his tom collins – This cousin of yours... could wait until tomorrow morning to meet you, correct?”

 

*

 

Theon's hands ran through the curls. They were pure copper and he felt electricity twist through his fingertips from touching them. He grabbed, pulled, forcing Robb to sink into his mouth as voraciously and ungracefully as he commanded.

Robb was shorter than him, but stronger, bull-strong. And yet Theon could easily take the lead and set their limits. What a gentleman.

Theon bit the bottom lip, pulled, dragging blood and pained, dark moans out of him.

He smirked into the kiss, and pushed his tongue in, then he felt Robb's hands press on his hips, so strong they could bruise him.

And he didn't know he could love it, but he did.

A pressure so wrong it'd feel right.

He moaned into Robb's mouth as he felt the pressure grow and then his erection pushed against his own. And he lost command soon enough, as Robb's hands slipped under his shirt, running on the soft skin, burning it open, as his arms pressed him against the wall.

Well, that was not going as planned, was it?

Robb pushed his tongue in, bringing his hunger into Theon's mouth, taking over him, reducing him to moans and shivers. He broke the kiss and Theon panted for more, pulling close to catch him back, and Robb smiled, proud of his victory, and slammed him against the walls harder, filling his mouth to the brink until Theon's cock twitched hard.

When they parted again, Theon's wet, kiss-swollen lips quivered.

Robb stared at him a long second, rubbed the lips with his thumb and bent his neck, dragging his teeth into it, until Theon poured drenched moans out of it, while sucked purple rained on his skin.

Robb's fingernails sank into the flesh of Theon's hips and Theon felt weak, his knees bucking and losing stand.

Robb's mouth moved to the shoulder, biting as if he had to tear it out, Theon screamed in delight, feeling his cock pull the pants, begging to be freed. 

He moved his head back, gulped down, glanced at the ceiling.

He lost control. And he didn't mind.

When Robb's tongue lapped and teased his nipples, before sucking them, biting them, Theon had the clear, dawning sensation that he was going to be eaten up alive.

He threw his hands around Robb's neck.

He should have told him something: to stop, that he wanted control, that he never … instead, all that came out of his lips was “Bed”.

And he forgot himself for a while.

 

*

 

Jon snorted, staring at him, “You look so grumpy. Is this how you are sober?”

Theon rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

There was no way he was going to share the real reason behind his expressions: pain in a way lower zone than his stomach. He had drank just a couple of drinks and then he had gone home with that guy, Robb, and he had his body bruised so good and so deep he could barely sit properly.

He should have probably told Robb he was not really used to it, but it would have been humiliating, he was not used to not being experienced in sex.

It was the only field he felt quite safe about.

But Robb was, well, not chapstick-sized. And Theon could almost still feel himself gaping.

Jon, though, didn't discover it as, thank god, apparently his “I fucked a girl yesterday night” face and his “I got fucked open yesterday night” face were drastically different. 

Theon had all the intention of winning that fucking agreement.

Jon was a delightful lyricist but, god, he was so damn gloomy.

Even his sex songs were as sad as fucking possible.

It wasn’t the fact that he didn't like it as much as the fact he wanted to be part of it too, somehow.

Singing songs that did not belong to him, if not to the part of him he didn't want to showcase, that was tiring after a while. He wanted his persona for a bit, his lewd, awful self on stage, his on scene sincere facade to shine.

And he knew the best way was gaining slightly his portion of authority too.

Jon had objected over and over in the years to any suggestion of change of lines, like he thought of himself as fucking Rimbaud.

And then fine, maybe he was, but was if Theon was Baudelaire instead?

Couldn't he be anything?

Just a voice? Just a well-accorded violin of Jon's vision?

Of course, though, he realized he needed to be more prudent, otherwise Jon may have found out about it and god help him the last thing he wanted was having to talk about his bisexuality with Jon and Sam... and Asha.

And yet memories of the night before would come to him and make him suck his lips and drag notes lower and longer more and more desperate, turning physical in his bloodstream.

The pleasure he had felt... that couldn't be undone or forgotten.

His body had memorized the way Robb felt – the warmth of his hands, the strength of his hips, the fire of his teeth. There was not a part of him Robb hadn't claimed, thrown himself into, fucking it to soreness.

And, oh, if he had enjoyed it.

The way Robb dragged him to ecstasies over and over, edge after edge, ravine after ravine in the thickest utter bliss.

He had felt him stretch him open, work him so he wouldn't tear, and yet he felt like that all the same.

His control had failed him, he had given it to someone and that someone had pleasured him with it.

He didn't hurt him like Balon did.

He melted him, turned him into moans and bliss and lewdness and desire.

Theon shivered remembering it, his voice shaking and growing warmer at the thought, while he felt the bruises sting and burn and call him back.

Come back, come back to me, mark me more.

And then he saw him.

A mirage, perhaps, or the solidification of a fear and a desire lingering liquid in his lungs.

Either way, he was there, at the bar, smiling, looking at him.

Theon's lips quivered and then sharpened into a smirk.

Our dust will settle as we meet again? Those were the words he was supposed to say, right?

His glance fell again on Robb, tied to his eyes, nailed on his chest.

“ _Our lust will rattle as we meet again_...”, he sang, way more sexual than intended, turning sadness into the most obscene moaned craving.

Jon almost tripped over his own feet, staring at him.

The girls in the front row seemed too happy to hold it against Theon, yet anger burnt through him.

He glared at Theon as a warning to not screw up. Theon glanced quickly at Jon, but he felt Robb's eyes still on him.

Something didn't sit well inside of him.

Take me home after all this time, he should have said. He knew that.

“ _Take me whole, take me whole._ \- he sang, smirking into the mic as he smirked on the edge of Robb's lips – _Tame me whole after all this time_.”

I've felt alone too much within this whole lie.

“ _I've felt alone too much without you inside._ ”

Jon's eyes went so wide that Sam feared they might fall out of his skull. Jon moved, walking onstage, playing it off as choreography, until he was next to Theon and slowly whispered “what the fuck”.

Theon shook his head, letting out an apologetic smirk, nodding to himself.

Robb's eyes didn't bulge. And Theon felt so hot and empty.

And, despite his clothes, he felt totally naked. And exposed.

And needy.

When, at the end of the evening, he went off the stage, he put on a hoodie not to be recognized, ran to the bar and grabbed him, pulling him with him. Robb let him do it, with a little mischievous smile as if he found Theon's horny frustration extremely flattering and amusing.

He dragged him to the alley and pushed him to the wall, kissing him, pressing their crotches together, half-trying to climb on him, pulling him close.

Robb laughed, guttural and low, into the kiss.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to change?”, he asked.

Theon nodded, trembled, and then Robb twisted him by the waist and slammed him against the brick wall. Theon felt Robb's half-hard-on pressing against him.

“Do you want me to lift your legs up?”

Theon blinked, unsure.

That would have been so... girly, wouldn't it?

He nodded and felt his cock twitch, as Robb lifted his legs and held his thighs. Theon grabbed Robb's neck tight, holding onto it and entwined his legs around his waist.

His blood ran to boil.

His cock stirred hard at feeling Robb's against his cleft.

He didn't have time to find the courage to ask or beg, Robb's mouth was against him again, devouring, voracious and hungry, a wolf-mouth, biting and taking space and filling him against the wall up to the point where Theon's head hurt. And it hurt so good.

Robb's hands were keeping him as if he weighted nothing at all and in his stomach humiliation and delight mixed up.

Theon felt like he had starved for him.

Robb parted, panted. “I should really go to my cousin.”

Theon grabbed him by the shirt collar, “Do it and I'll fucking kill you.”

“Have you missed me that much?”

Theon swallowed, “What if.”

“I have too.”

Theon's lips trembled and he stared at Robb's. How he craved him sickly, wickedly.

There was something horribly unhealthy and perfect in the gasoline that ran through his veins.

It was intoxicating. And unorthodox.

And – and too many ands.

“Do you have lube with you?”

Robb blinked, “Do... do you want to do this here?”

“Why not.”

“Alley? Dirty? - he looked around – Trashcans? Raccoons?”

“You didn't strike me as that type of freak. - Theon admitted – Rather another kind.”

Robb smiled, “Yeah, but... you... look so... put together. - a caress of his hair – You have too pretty of hair for someone okay with them stinking like trash.”

Theon looked away, swallowed, “I... I'm afraid if we stop, if we take the time to go to a hotel, I-”

“Will change your mind?”

“... will have to face I won't, rather.”

Robb smiled, tenderly, “Then I'll kiss you the whole way there so you'll have something better to think about.”

Theon grinned, “Sounds good. Kiss me dumb.”

“That will require a lot ... - Robb bit his bottom lip – … lot, lot of work.”

Theon stared, enchanted, “I am so up for it.”

 

*

 

Theon arched, moaning desperately.

His mouth fell agape, his hands and veins shivered – electricity turning him alight.

He tried to move but couldn't, expect his hips, which he bucked into Robb's hot mouth, desperate for his tongue. Robb smiled and sunk deeply over him, swallowing him whole, making Theon arch and beg louder.

He stared at his wrists, which Theon had allowed him to tie, bruising and reddening with tension, and the body tensing up in need.

He caressed Theon's hips, sank his nails into them, dragged and grabbed and tore, making Theon choke on his own moans, before sucking Theon harder, licking his length and cockhead, reducing him to a mess. And Theon would let him, would allow him, love him for it, even.

The way he lost all control filled him with an inebriated state of grace he never knew.

Desire burnt him full.

Robb's hand caressed his thigh, running down to the ankles that held onto a spreading bar, leaving Theon exposed, ready and pulsing.

Robb sucked Theon's cock to the root, while pushing in fingers, one after one, into his soft hole, dragging out moans, whimpers, begging, as he found the prostate and teased and tormented it.

Insisting, merciless.

Until Theon lost himself in pleasure.

And pride lost any appeal as he spent into Robb's mouth and Robb grabbed his face by the jaw and kissed him, wildly. He tasted himself, he tasted sex itself in Robb.

 

*

 

“What the fuck got into you?”, Jon asked, throwing a fit, as usual.

Asha swallowed down, embarrassed for both of them. Sam rolled his eyes to the ceiling, begging mentally for them to calm down.

“I just forgot the words, okay?”

“Forgot! - Jon shouted – Do you think I'm stupid? You changed them.”

“Jon... - Asha said, her voice weirdly soothing – It was just once, I'm sure it won't happen again.”

Theon scoffed, “What? If it happens again you’ll kick me out?”

Jon frowned.

“No, I... didn't think this was... an option to you.”

“No, then what? You can yell at me, treat me like a subordinate, and I shouldn't decide, for example, that that then to me means leaving? Can't other people have deal breakers?”

“So, what? - Jon shook his head – Changing the lyrics is a deal breaker to you?”

“Is it to you? - Theon stood up, facing him, angry – The deal breaker is how you speak to me, like, of course I'd do what you want and how dare I do something else.”

Asha let out a low whistle and her eyes went wide, “Theon, he wrote those lyrics, if it happened to you...”

“You get to improvise! And do longer solos! Sam gets to fuck up sometimes!”

Sam peeped out something nobody decoded and Jon raised his eyes to the ceiling.

“That's different.”

“Why? Cause you want to fuck my sister and Sam is your best bro?”

Asha blinked, “You want to fuck me?”

“I’m your best bro?”, Sam asked.

Jon's head flipped between the two of them and he got all pale and then all red, “Anyway! Lyrics are different.”

“Yeah, because you write them.”, Theon smirked, wicked.

“Theon, you're being unreasonable.”

“Who died and made you king of anything?”

Jon tried to reply, then frowned staring down at Theon's neck, under one of his fashionista silk cravats.

“...is that a bitemark?”

Theon flushed pink and scoffed, “No, dude. I scratched.”

“Purple?”

“Look. It's not a bitemark.”

“You slept with someone. - his eyes ran on his wrists, he frowned – Did... she put you in handcuffs?”

Asha stood up, “Jon, leave it.”

Theon backed away a couple of steps, looking away stubbornly.

“Look, dude, it's a band. You need to listen to others too. Otherwise, I'm out.”

Jon shook his head, “Would you really drop it all just to not let me lead something?”

Theon sucked his lips. They almost hurt, a good sting that tasted like Robb.

“You didn't even ask me to play you one song, Jon. - he shrugged – After this week, I'm gone.”

Asha turned towards him, as if she wanted to stop him, but it was Sam who went behind him, reaching and trying to talk him out of it.

Asha glared then at Jon.

“You could have asked him.”

“How was I supposed to know it was so important?”, he pouted.

She shook her head, looking away.

“By listening to others, Jon.”

“You too?”, he scoffed.

She sighed, “You're so self-centred, sometimes.”

“Tu quoque. - he rolled his eyes, then swallowed down and tried not to stare at her – Maybe he is right, a bit.”

“Maybe, uh.”

“He's right about the other thing.”, he said, quickly enough, scratching his nape and trying, praying she wouldn't notice he was blushing.

 

*

 

“Fuck. Fuck. - he screamed, he cried, holding onto him, bringing him closer, welcoming him all in – God, yes.”

He gyrated his ankles as they twitched, bent and curled his toes, his voice raised to the ceiling.

Robb slammed in harder, almost roaring, bruising him inside, pounding senselessly.

Theon shouted, his voice creaming and foaming.

“You're so.. fucking.... oh god.”

Robb chuckled, caught his lips in his own, sucked, kissed him, “You feel amazing.”

Theon grinned, “Thank you, darling.”

“I want to tear you apart.”

A chuckle, “God, please, do.”

Robb grabbed Theon's legs by the ankles and spread them wide, sinking harder into him, while giving him more of a panoramic view on his hole getting fucked.

Theon would have liked to lie, but the sight was mesmerizing: how his ass swallowed Robb's girth, as if it wasn't obscenely big, the way it entered to the balls, as if it wasn't a wrong hole.

The sight of himself like that ...

His lips quivered.

He looked up at Robb, pleading with his eyes for him to understand.

Robb pushed harder, hitting his sweet spot, turning him into lustful writhes and messy squirms.

“You're such a sight...”, Robb whispered, drowning, hard and rough, inside him.

Theon bit his lips, whined, his eyes nailed on Robb.

Robb moved a hand to him and caressed his neck, tightening around it as Theon smiled wide, welcoming the pressure, losing any pretence.

He moaned loud, until he couldn’t, and as breath escaped him and the clench grew, he felt his cock twitch madly in need and pour wet precome.

He closed his eyes, smiling in the taste of his own dizziness.

All the power was in Robb's knuckles.

All control was in Robb's hips.

All pleasure came from abandonment.

As his throat clacked shut with void, Robb left it and pushed through him, thrusting rough, and it felt like the rawest, deepest thrust in the world. 

His oversensitive flesh turned electric, and he came with a scream.

Robb stared in awe at Theon's hole clasping around his cock and Theon's cock letting out come and still half hard, twitching, sore and wet.

“Come inside.”, Theon murmured.

He didn't even recognize his own voice in that indecent, filthy whisper.

It didn't matter.

 

*

 

“Theon.”

A groan, sighing.

There he was, Jon Snow, in the middle of the staircase of his apartment.

“What? Do you expect to come in?”

Jon shook his head, “No, it's... it's fine. Can we talk?”

Theon rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He glanced back inside his apartment and stared at Robb, sleeping on the sofa, exhausted.

He felt a weird, warm tenderness take over him.

He closed the door behind himself slowly, trying not to wake him up, and went down to Jon, hands in his pockets, a done look on his face.

“Yes?”

“I... - Jon groaned, grunted, sank his face into his neck and let out a breathy – I was too hard on you.”

Theon blinked. Perplexed and suspicious.

“Expand?”

Jon breathed out and sighed, clenching his eyes.

“I want to hear your song. I want us to see if we can be... a band and not Jon's band.”

Theon raised an eyebrow, still unconvinced.

“...did you fuck my sister?”

Jon let out a red-handed groan.

Theon squinted his eyes, “Did... she fuck you?”

“Don't ask details.”

“I see. - an evil grin – Didn't strike me as a pegging kinda guy.”

“ _Theon_.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Bring us a song tomorrow, please. - Jon tried to smile, though failing – So we can learn it for the last show of the week.”

 

*

 

_I'm the unkind type, baby, I hope you don't mind._

_I'm the worst kind, baby, I hope you won't bulge._

_I'm still wondering what the fuck you did to me:_

_This is not me and it's the most me I've ever been._

 

Jon frowned, staring at the piece of paper.

“Is this a lovesong, Greyjoy?”

Theon scoffed, outraged, “It's a sex song.”

A raise of eyebrows, “If you say so... - a little snicker – Maybe making you keep it in your pants for some days transformed you.”

If he just knew, Theon formulated in his head, in silence.

 

_You tore me open,_

_you ate my heart._

_pride, that's a funny word,_

_spank me till I bleed sunlight._

 

“Kinky... - Asha laughed – Not the position I imagined you in, though.”

“It's just lyrics. - Theon groaned, avoiding her eyes – It's not what I like, it just conveys an image.”

Sam's eyes went up and down on him.

“Well, it's... uh, very suggestive.”, he mumbled half to himself.

“Don't get a crush on my brother, Sam, you deserve better.”

 

_You tore me open,_

_you tore me apart._

_Pride, lost it a while ago,_

_walk on me, boo, until I spill._

 

Asha snickered, “You're sure it's not what you...”

“Yes. - Theon lied, roaring – I'm sure, Asha.”

Sam's cheeks got redder. “Well, you're very convincing.”

“How many girls are going to cream their panties over this.”, Asha mumbled.

“Can't you comment on some other aspect? - he whined, then turning to Jon – Anything?”

Jon's face was lost, his eyes in the void, his hand in front of his mouth, while he looked at Asha. Hopeless case.

 

_I'm your pool, be my fountain, squirt on my marble,_

_you'll make me beg for more before I know,_

_I'm your canvas, paint me with my own shame tonight,_

_you'll make me beg for more once again._

 

“...so?”, Theon asked, then, annoyed from nervousness. Shivering.

Jon, Asha and Sam looked at each other and then they all smiled wide.

“Let's finish this one with a good verse. - Jon said, proud – I want you to give it your best.”

 

*

 

Robb leaned in the shadows next to the wall, smiling at Theon singing. He would stay there the whole time and then wait for Theon to reach him to then escape through the dimly lit streets, to an apartment, to a motel, to a park, finding bliss in each other, at loss one in the other like in droplets of ecstasy.

Time lost its sense until night and became true as the moon rose and until it melted in the dawn.

And the nights were young and raw and blown black in desire.

Hungry kisses and starving touches ran through their veins.

And then, with nights, it started to feel almost real.

Too real to ignore, too real to scrub away.

Theon massaged his head, yawning, his hair in a messy bun.

“God, I hate mornings after you. Everything hurts.”

Robb laughed, rolling in the blankets, “Hey, I give amazing aftercare cuddles.”

“My ass is the fucking Mont Blanc Tunnel.”

“My bad. - Robb bit his tongue as he stuck it out and smiled, mischievously happy, as a child – You were too tempting also today.”

Theon rolled his eyes.

“I'm hungry. - he whined – I'm gonna go out for food and then return to write.”

Robb blinked, sucked his lips.

“If you want... I can grab something for us, bring it here.”

“Like dinner.”

“Or fries.”

Theon was not a huge fan of oil neither on his fingers nor on his skin nor hips.

“Fries. - he grinned – I do feel like salt, though.”

Robb smiled, biting his lips, “You don't look like the type of guy who eats fast food.”

“You don't look like the type that likes whips and floggers.”

“Fair enough. My mistake.”

“Let me compose something, so my guitarist won't kill me. - Theon snorted – That shrimpdicked asshat.”

Robb laughed, “Poor man, c'mon.”

“Just... trust me. - he sighed, taking a notebook in his hands – I mean, I don't know what to write about, but I got to.”

“Just don't write about me.”, Robb warned.

Theon frowned. Usually girls asked the opposite.

“Why not?”

“Because people only write breakup songs about other people, about how sad it had ended. - he mumbled, then looked away, found his jeans and put them on quickly, stubbornly avoiding Theon's gaze – I kind of don't want to be a breakup song.”

Theon wanted to reply, for real, something.

But he didn't know what, because he... felt like the answer was not something you can say to someone after a week of casual sex.

So he cleared his voice, shook his head, and mumbled, “Did you ever end up talking to your cousin?”

Robb let out a small, nervous chuckle, “Yeah... about that...”

 

*

 

He fucked Jon's cousin.

No, screw that, he got fucked by Jon's cousin.

For a full week.

That was a nightmare.

But just as Theon resolved that nothing could or would have made it worse, he had to face reality about that one, because the boy was cute. As in, more than for random fucks.

Robb had grabbed him Vietnamese food instead of burgers and fries, which he got he liked from spying on Theon's books, probably, and, after they ate, he laid next to him in bed, allowing Theon to play and write down, until Theon had turned to him and then he jumped to hold him and cuddle him. And he pretended to be the one wanting cuddles.

And he listened to his songs and hummed them.

He was perfect.

That was a disaster.

And the worst part was how he liked him still, how he started subtly adoring him for stupid stuff like how hot his feet temperature was or the dimples on his ass or how clumsy he was with chopsticks.

Or his laugh.

He had a wonderful laugh.

Theon hated that.

And now he should come out to Jon and Sam and Asha? Or give up dimples chopstick. Both options were awful.

And unacceptable.

He got fucked by Jon's cousin.

Jon's. Anything.

Robb let out a weak laugh, while walking with him to the pub. “Is it that bad?”

It was not, admittedly, which is what made it all the worse.

“Look. - a chuckle – Uh, Jon doesn't know I am...”

“Into men?”

“Yup. - a nervous low giggle – Plus, I mean, we work together, if we fucked up.... one thing would influence the other, it's... not good.”

“No. - Robb breathed in, letting out just a thin, frustrated sigh – I guess it's not ideal.”

Theon frowned.

“I... don't you, you can’t think that it’s a great thing.”

“Well. - Robb shrugged, searching his pockets for a cigarette – If Jon likes you, it means you're a good person. It's... a guarantee for me, it makes me feel... safer.”

“Safer?”

Theon lowered his eyes. He hadn’t thought about it that way.

He frowned, tried to speak and then, somehow, he lost it's sign somewhere. Like a note he forgot to sing over.

What a late start, what a sad end.

His throat clenched, closed, pain rained in his veins.

He didn't want it to end.

“Look, I....”

“I'm not a child. - Robb didn't look at him, he opened the door of the place, as to let him in, and stared away, in the void between trashcans and stars, puddles of rain and the stolen kisses alley – You don't need to say it.”

“I just don't do serious stuff.”

“Okay.”

“Don't give me an okay.”

“Not okay, then.”, Robb grinned, metallic, hurt.

Theon blinked, “God, you're so bitter.”

Robb scoffed, “I'm not bitter, you're dumping me, let me feel down for five fucking seconds.”

Theon groaned, “We could just fuck without saying it to anyone.”

“Great, I'll send you the bill from time to time.”

“...god, aren't you too prude to be Irish?”

Robb tried to avoid letting out an amused laugh at that comment, while he felt a sour grip squeeze his chest.

“I also didn't expect it to become serious. But to me it did.”

Theon's heart sunk.

Joy or pain, that was hard to say. They tasted the same in his mouth.

“So. - Robb shrugged slowly, shaking his head – If you want just some fun, we close it here, now.”

“You're so drastic. - Theon said, trying to laugh off the heavy weight on his stomach – Don't you have a middle way?”

“Oh, sorry, I'm too straightforward? Maybe it's better being as ambiguous as you are and pretend not to see people getting hurt.”

Theon licked his lips, shook his head, “What if...”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. His eyes stung and filled up.

He sniffled, seeing Robb's eyes widening and him moving closer, “Hey, hey, hey, did I raise my voice? I... - he shook his head – I'm sorry, I was so... stupidly angry.”

“I like you too, okay?”, Theon shouted.

Robb frowned, confused puppy dog look and raised an eyebrow, “Then...?”

Poor soul, he really...

Theon sighed, looked away, found himself not crossing his arms.

“I can't be sweet. I can't do love. - he let out, his throat hurting as pulsing, raw, openly slit flesh – What if we break up, if stuff goes bad, if I fuck up …”

“Can't we worry about that if it happens?”, Robb asked.

Theon shook his head, weakly. Why did he feel like crying.

Robb bit his bottom lip, forcing himself to look away.

“Let me say hi to Jon, then. - he swallowed down, bitter, dry, avoiding their eyes to cross – And then I'll go.”

Theon opened his mouth to say something.

Stay. Stay is what he wanted to say.

But with which right? By which means?

“Sure. - he whispered, as he felt his head spin, his eyes turning to ashes – Yeah, it's for the best.”

“It is for you.”

How bitter does sweet sugar turn when you burn it?

They entered together, their shoulders now barely brushing. And the contact's absence was a burden bigger than any punch. As they were in, the crowd pushing them closer, Theon felt a thorn in his throat.

Stay, stay, stay.

“Look, wh – he started, and Robb turned to him, eyes charged with hope, a little tilt in the corner of his mouth, and Theon licked his lips – W...what if, I-”

“Theon!”

As Asha called him, he froze.

And so did Robb's small smile, hiding again behind sadness.

Asha grabbed Theon by the shoulder, smiling, “Go on stage, Jon said he is leaving the opening to you.”

He turned to Robb, hoping to see him understand; and probably he did, but forgiving was different. And Robb looked away, hurt beyond anything rational, his cheeks burning and eyes shiny.

He looked towards Asha.

He could have outed him, Theon realized, terrified.

“I'm Robb. - he said, with a tired smile – Do you know where Jon is?”

… but he didn't. Of course.

Theon wondered who would have hurt anyone like that... after all. His father. Yes, he, he would have.

He was about to swallow his pride, or try to, when Robb moved in the direction Asha had pointed to and disappeared, melting into the crowd, while she pushed him onstage, handed him an acoustic guitar and smiled.

As if she really was proud of him.

Or as if she fucked Jon, which was more probable.

He felt hate for a moment, for the freedom that came from the sureness of not being pushed aside and no needing to hide.

Then he felt pity for himself.

Jon didn't loathe his gay cousin, he wouldn't have loathed a gay friend.

Asha never judged. Sam was not the type.

His father was, only him.

And, yeah, he didn't know how to love, not properly, not at all.

He knew how to fuck, how to destroy, how to enjoy himself drunkenly.

Love was a stranger, foreigner, an alien concept made of poems he never understood and songs he sang half-heartedly and movies he snorted at. Love was all the things too good for him.

He just hurt everyone on his road, like a fucking panzer.

He felt his heart clench when he glanced at the crowd and saw him again, for a moment, just one, looking at him. Sadly.

Yet curiously.

As if he believed in him, as if he was not there to see him fall.

“Uh. - Theon coughed into the microphone and he wondered where all his charm had gone, where his smug smirks and his shield of smirks – How you doing?”

Robb smiled at him, still half sad.

“So... - Theon continued – They decided I had to be the sacrificial entrée before the real show.”

Someone laughed.

Theon's fingers trembled.

He knew the words to his own songs, and yet. He felt his blood pump thick and dark to his brain.

And new words seemed to push through him like a tide.

Robb smiled, gave a salute and turned towards the door.

Theon took a deep breath, cursing himself. And he started playing notes he never wrote down.

And his voice trembled low against the microphone, and it echoed in a blue prayer of urge, hunger, haste.

“ _This is not a breakup song, so give it a chance._ \- he half screamed, half-sung, wallowing then to find the note again, and he smiled as he saw Robb stopping - _Even I don't get that, but you've gone to my head._ ”

Robb frowned, turned, slowly.

He saw Theon smiling, a bit sad, his face a mess of emotions rushing all over in panicked joy.

“ _I used you like a knife to twist inside myself,_ \- he sang, then softly, hot as liquid flame – _Please, cut through my bitter and sour flesh._ ” 

Asha grinned, nodding to it. Theon's fingertips rubbed the strings, playing them with an easiness he wished he could play his heart with.

He closed his eyes, moving his head slowly, just not looking at the crowd anymore, but feeling the words come to his head, waves of feverish kisses and smiles.

No anguish left its aftertaste in his mind, just the fondest feeling of Robb's clumsiness with chopsticks and his dimples and his smile and the way they made love when it felt like the gravity of earth had smashed them together, needed them to collide.

For a force bigger than his father.

“... _and I promise, I promise, I can be sweet for you._ ”

Theon smiled.

And Robb smiled back.

 


End file.
